


simple

by orphan_account



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Spoilers, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it was simple, and fragile, and good; not just the kiss, but what they had. There was no need to second-guess everything or offer explanations. It was just Curt and Owen. And for the first time in Curt’s life, something was simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	simple

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case it's not clear, this takes part before the events of Spies Are Forever. Therefore, there are no spoilers for the show. I do talk about them in End Notes, so you might wanna avoid them if you haven't seen the show yet.  
> Enjoy!

Curt Mega’s life was never simple. Sure, to an outsider it may sound like an excuse or a half-assed attempt at justifying his arrogance and recklessness, but it was also the truth. From the day he’d been born to his good-hearted, broke, runaway bride mother, his life was a series of messy, tangled events which somehow never seemed to connect to one another. Yet, there he was, alive and considerably well some 30 years later.

Maybe not exactly _well_.

“You stupid, arrogant, washed-up excuse of a _moron_!”

Curt sighed quietly, not even bothering with a comeback. He knew any attempts at trying to out-smart or, even worse, out-yell Cynthia were pointless; she outranked him in cursing her lungs out by twenty years of practice. Or maybe even thirty, he considered. Who knew how old that mad woman was, anyway.

Suddenly, a warm hand was pressed against his shoulder blades; a finger began to travel lower, tracing the curve of his spine, light as a feather, barely even there, yet making a pleasant shiver run down his back. He didn’t turn around, trying to focus on the conversation. He could endure two more minutes with Cynthia. He _had_ to explain it all to her, after all.

“You dumb, ignorant, dense, dull, useless, fucking idiot!”

He flinched as a series of butterfly kisses were pressed down the back of his neck.

“Now I reckon she’s just listing synonyms for _stupid_ , don’t you?”

At last, Curt turned around. He was met face-to-face with one Owen Carvour; and said face was anything if not a welcomed sight. His lips pink and their corners raised in a wicked smile, hair almost an inch longer than when they’d last seen each other. And then there was the fact that he was shirtless and, well. That wasn’t an unwelcomed sight, either. Curt found himself getting distracted again; just like that British bastard intended, _damn him_.

“Shhh, I’m talking to Cynthia.” He whispered, trying to keep his voice down to a minimum. He was sure Cynthia already had her assumptions about him and his after-work activities, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of affirming them.

Owen raised an eyebrow in a mocking way. Curt couldn’t decide if he hated or loved it.

“More like she’s talking at you,” he said without even attempting to keep it quiet. “Or _cursing_ at you. But I guess you’d be used to that by now, wouldn’t you?”

Curt did not roll his eyes because he was adult, thank you very much. Even if the fact that Owen’s superiors never seemed to be furious with him, was just a drop from exasperating. Cynthia was wonderful and she was the best at what she was doing; it’s just that what she was doing often consisted of making Curt feel like utter shit about himself.

“Mega, are you listening to me?” She screamed so loudly that Curt had to fight the urge to rip off his earpiece. “When I’m through with you, your face is gonna look like a fucking Paul Klee painting!”

Curt blinked and looked at Owen. He was the classy one.

“Paul Klee?” He mouthed.

“Weird ass guy, painted lots of weird ass paintings,” Owen replied carelessly, paying more attention to Curt’s left arm which he was currently caressing with his fingers.

Curt tried to tell him _please stop, what you’re doing is very distracting and I’m having a conversation with my boss_. It didn’t work.

“Look, I’m sorry about letting the Russian guy escape, but it was either letting him go or getting blown up!”

“If you’d actually bothered reading the file, you’d have known his name was Pyotr Igorevich and recognized him before he escaped with the missile plans!”

Curt shrugged off Owen’s hand and sat himself up, distraught. He struggled to remember the face of the Russian man whom he’d considered one of the workers; the man had been this close to blowing Owen’s brains out before Curt had managed to put a bullet through his leg. He’d managed to got away as Curt had grabbed Owen and run for his life.

“He was a spy?” He uttered. He could feel Owen move slightly. “I thought he was just working for the Germans…”

“Well, aren’t you a bright fucking cookie!” Cynthia huffed. It sounded bitter and reminded Curt of the way his mother would sometimes talk about his father when she had a drink. “He was a spy, all right, and now he’s got what we were after…”

“That’s not what _I_ was after!”

He felt something break inside of him. It was too much, the ungratefulness after he’d nearly died for his agency; after _Owen_ had almost died for him.

“My task was to get the blueprints of their new weapons and blow up the facility where they were building them. I did it. I did all you asked me to do!” He knew he sounded childish, but he didn’t care.

He never once got a thank you from Cynthia. Not a single praise; only the yelling, like he was a slave or an animal.

“Good for you, Mega! Now guess who’s gonna have to deal with the Russians following into Germans’ footsteps and building missiles! Me!” It was remarkable how she didn’t sound anything out of the ordinary; the same tone and pitch as when she was briefing him about the mission. Always pissed off, never grateful. That was the Cynthia way. “Get yourself the fuck back up together, Mega.”

And that was it. She’d hung up. He didn’t even a chance at a shitty come-back.

He ripped off his earpiece and threw it across the room without even thinking. He could hear it tear into pieces as it crashed against the wardrobe.

“Curt?”

Owen didn’t sound worried or apprehensive, like most people did while dealing with Curt these days. It was just a question, nothing more; a command, maybe, asking Curt to confirm he’s there, that he’s breathing, that he’s okay…

He drew in a breath. In, out, in, out. Just breathe.

“I’m fine.”

That same warm hand found its way up his back again. Curt didn’t shrug it off this time.

“It wasn’t our fault, you know,” Owen said. He was drawing circles with his pointing index down the base of his neck. Curt noticed he’d said _our_ instead of _your_.

He found the courage in himself to turn around. Owen didn’t look frightened or alarmed either; his face was blank, unreadable. A true spy, Curt thought to himself. Even outside of the job.

“Fuck the job,” he murmured.

In one swift movement, he had Owen pressed underneath him. It gave him a certain satisfaction; Owen was taller, possibly stronger, and usually got to be the one on top. This time, Curt needed the control. He attacked the man’s lips furiously with his own, sucking on his bottom lip and biting down on it lightly. Owen responded vigorously, sliding a hand down Curt’s back and tangling the other one in his hair, pulling at the roots to bring Curt’s face closer.

Owen tasted of coffee and cheap hamburgers they’d eaten on their way to the hotel. The way his long hair tickled his cheecks felt familiar and Curt found himself burying his hand in it as he kissed his way down Owen’s neck, sucking on a spot below his ear. He could hear the low voices the man was making, quiet whimpers which turned into moans as Curt bit down. He drew back to examine his work. Well, this sure was going to leave a mark. He couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying it.

“Oh, Curt Mega, you’re going to be the death of me,” Owen sighed, feeling the mark with his fingers.

Curt grinned at him as he bowed his head to kiss him again, grinding his hips at just the right angle against Owen’s, trying to lose himself in his touch, the feel of the soft lips against his, the smell of hotel soap and shampoo around them, the broken noises Owen was making as they found a rhythm...

Then Owen pulled back.

“You’re angry." He said casually, as if they weren’t in the middle of a wild post-mission making out/sex session.

“Seriously? We’re really doing this right now?” He asked, straightening up and looking down at his partner with disappointment. Trust Owen to ruin a moment like that.

“Fuck yes we’re doing this right now.”

Curt moved away from Owen’s body, back towards his half of the bed, but Owen sat up and used his hands to pull him closer, keeping their heads at the same level so that Curt couldn’t look away.

“This is dumb,” he murmured.

Owen pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.

“You’re dumb.”

Curt tried to stifle a laugh by turning it into a coughing fit; Owen didn’t buy it. He kept staring at him with his brilliant brown eyes, as though he could pierce holes in Curt’s face. It was indeed _dumb_ how one man needed only this pair of eyes to make him talk while knives and guns and fists never seemed to affect him.

“It’s not you I’m angry at,” he sighed, averting the man’s gaze.

“Well, duh. You’re angry at yourself. _That’s_ dumb.”

Owen pushed back some of Curt’s hair that kept his eyes partially shielded from Owen’s gaze. His touch was enough to make him melt.

“Yeah, well, that’s what I am, right?” He spilled out, the bitterness in his voice matching Cynthia’s from before. “A dumb idiot who just can’t seem to do his job right. Ever.”

It wasn’t until he heard the words come out of his mouth that he realized what he’d said. He wasn’t supposed to say things like that in front of people. They weren’t meant to see past the illusion of the great agent Curt Mega; the fearless spy who just didn’t need anybody’s help. Because the real Curt Mega was weak and nobody needed weak. Not in this line of work, not in this universe.

Yet Owen sat right in front of him and didn’t run or even flinch when Curt put the mask down. Perhaps he’d taken it off in front of Owen before. Perhaps he didn’t need to; perhaps Owen could see right through it anyway.

“Yeah, you’re an idiot,” he scoffed. Curt felt something drop in his stomach. “For thinking of yourself this way.”

Curt frowned at this and opened his mouth to argue, but Owen cut him off.

“You’re the best ruddy spy in your country, Mega. Which I would know because you have quite the international reputation. Do you know much I heard about you before I even met you? And, yeah, sometimes you let a bad guy get away. Whatever. So do I. So does everyone. You can’t escape it. If you want to be perfect, you’ve chosen the wrong profession, Curt. Hell, you’ve chosen the wrong species.”

There was a moment of silence while Curt tried to process his words. It was a comfort to hear Owen admit he’d had mistakes of his own; but it still didn’t mean Curt’s faults weren’t significant or, well, embarrassing. As Cynthia never failed to remind him.

“But Cynthia said…”

“Oh, fuck Cynthia,” Owen rolled his eyes. “Not literally, though, she’s really not my type.”

That made Curt laugh, even if just for a moment. At least Owen was smiling, too.

“If we don’t make mistakes, we never learn, old man,” he said simply.

Curt moaned. Typical jerk.

“You know, I’m only four years older than you.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the cracking of your old ass bones.”

When Curt pressed his body against his to kiss him, it was only partially to silence him.

And it was simple, and fragile, and good; not just the kiss, but what they had. There was no need to second-guess everything or offer explanations. It was just Curt and Owen. And for the first time in Curt’s life, something was simple.

**Author's Note:**

> Well!! I hope you enjoyed this. Gotta warn ya, I still haven't seen the full show, I'm on Act 2 Scene 2 since I'm watching it as TCB are uploading it. All I know about the ending is that Owen turns out to be a bad guy and somehow he's the Deadliest Man Alive?? Not sure how that happens, can't wait to find out. Anyway, if there are some inaccuracies, sorry.  
> You can choose to interpret this fic in two ways: A) Owen really is in love with Curt but later in the show becomes a dick, B) Owen only pretended to be in love with Curt. Anyway, it doesn't make a very happy fic, so I've chosen option C) Owen is in love with Curt and he never does turn evil!! But, hey, it's all up to you.  
> Sorry if Cynthia comes out as a dick. I love her to death and absolutely believe she's not doing anything wrong. Curt's just, well... Curt.  
> Oh, yeah, I'm pretty sure Curt Mega the person is actually only a year older than Joey Richter but I figured a slight age difference won't hurt anybody.  
> My first language is not English so I apologize for any mistakes which I may have committed. Please point them out so I can correct them and learn from them!  
> Also, it feels so weird to write for a character named Curt Mega. Hey, Curt, the actor, if you're reading this, hope you don't mind.  
> And how great is Spies Are Forever, right?


End file.
